


sweet sorrow

by Val_Creative



Series: IT Movies Fic-Palooza 2019 [49]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bill Denbrough Loves Mike Hanlon, Cute Ending, Derry (Stephen King), First Love, Gay Bill Denbrough, Gay Mike Hanlon, Injury, M/M, Mike Hanlon Loves Bill Denbrough, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), Nicknames, Past Character Death, Romantic Friendship, Summer, Swimming, Teenage Losers Club (IT), Teenagers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 15:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: As kids, Mike gets injured from messing around in the swimming hole with Bill when he shouldn’t have. While he’s grounded for over two months, Bill sneaks over to see how Mike’s ankle is doing.





	sweet sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by Billy Boy (FFN): "SFW. Hanbrough keeping secrets when they are kids." I ALWAYS WANTED TO TRY AN ORIGIN STORY FOR WHY BILL CALLS HIM MIKEY. AND NOW IT'S HAPPENED. Thanks for the prompt and thank you guys for reading! Any comments/thoughts are always always always welcomed!

*

Down south of Witcham Street, Mike lives with his grandfather.

The property is mostly wheat fields and gravel. Mike remembers being four or five, chasing down the herds of wild geese, squawking along with them. He remembers being unsupervised for hours.

Leroy Hanlon was a proud and hard man. All of Mike's life.

He knew Mike's parents died from an _accident_, even in the face of Derry's lies and gossip. Mike's grandfather didn't shed a tear in public, gripping tightly onto Mike's little hand as the funeral proceeded. Mike doesn't have specific memories other than sweating copiously under hot summer sun and the two long white caskets lowering into the ground. A **I LOVE DERRY** balloon hovered in front of a priest reciting the Words of God. The priest never seemed to notice.

Mike's grandfather waited for him to turn six or seven before teaching Mike about owning the Hanlon farms. Managing its workers and herds. What they do to the animals and how they help the local butcher sell their meat and how they all make money from this partnership.

A man needs to understand several things in order to be a _good_ man: Hard work. Manners. Respect of women. Kindness.

(And, telling the truth.)

But they never go up to Harris Avenue, no matter what. Mike stops asking to visit his old childhood home.

_It's death and ashes, Mike._

*

On the tenth anniversary, Mike picks nannyberry and sweet white violets and daisies, collecting them into a makeshift bouquet.

He visited his parents before, but not like this. No grave-markers. No bodies. No flowers. Bill murmurS to him, soothing and _real_, touching Mike's shoulder as the other boy cries nonstop—Bill's warm thumb rubbing against the barrier of Mike's tee.

Bill offers to ride with him back to his grandfather's property.

There's a swimming hole nearby, full of clear and cool riverwater during July.

He points out the dirty, swinging tire on a tree to Mike, fascinated. Thing is Mike got told to _not_ play there. He wasn't allowed.

Mike's lips curl up.

He fishes out two swim shorts, hurrying to undress with Bill in the yard. Quarter of a mile towards the woods, near the road they biked on, and Mike sees it. There's a lone bit of wooden fence-post. High, green vegetation outside of the bank. Bill scrambles onto the tire, putting a leg in, and he can hears the loud, ominous creaking of the tree branch.

"Hey, maybe I should go first," Mike says nervously, pressing a hand to Bill's side to get his attention.

"O-oh…"

Mike replaces the confused boy, climbing up further on the angled, broken tree. He shifts himself into the tire. _Momentum_—it carries him over the water, and sends Mike flying down. He lands in the deep end, half-submerged, laughing uproariously.

From there, he and Bill take turns on the old swinging tire, hooting, diving in. Running and leaping over the fence-post and somersaulting into the riverbank weeds. It might have been more fun to have the rest of the Losers Club there, splashing around and pretending to be vicious safari piranhas underwater. But… Mike likes spending time alone with Bill. Especially today.

During another heave on the tire-swing, Mike senses the rope loosening. Bill watches in mounting horror as it flies free. Instead of going into the water, a screaming, flailing Mike lands onto the bank in a heap, his elbow scraping the ground.

"_MIKE_!" Bill hollers, swimming furiously over to him. "_MIKE! MIKE_!"

He doesn't answer Bill, hissing in noticeable pain, trying to sit up. Mike's dark eyes shiny with unshed tears.

Bill rushes over, checking him. "Are y-y-you okay? Mike?"

"Fine…"

"No, you're n-not," Bill insists, starting to worry. "Did y-_yuu_ s-s-sprain it?"

His fingers brush over Mike's ankle, and Mike recoils, hissing again. "If my Old Pops finds out…" he groans, staring into Bill's eyes. "I'll be in deep shit, Bill… I'm never gonna be let out of the house again until I'm _forty_…"

"He w-_wuh_-won't find out. He w-won't." It's not convincing enough. "Let's g-g-go inside, Mikey. We can ice y-your ankle."

As the nickname tumbles from Bill's lips, Mike feels his chest go hot. He's never called him something like _Mikey_ before.

Not ever.

Bill heaves him up, nudging an arm under Mike's armpit, taking a portion of his weight and marching ahead. They're still dripping wet when Mike reaches out clumsily, banging open the screen-door, freezing up. He thought his grandfather was supposed to be on the farm, testing out the equipment brought in from a town over. But he's wandering in the hallway, sipping coffee, frowning.

Mike prays to vanish on the spot.

Instead, Mike's grandfather orders a red-cheeked, flustered Bill to go home.

*

He rushes Mike out to Derry Central Hospital by truck.

Their family physician says it's not broken or fractured, but orders Mike to keep his ankle wrapped up in the bandages. They give Mike a pair of crutches, and he and his grandfather return to the farmhouse in time for making a late supper.

"I told you to not to go to the swimming hole," Mike's grandfather reminds him harshly. "What did you say to me?"

Mike stares down at his plate, his hands folded.

_"I promised_ __…_ I wouldn't go…"_

"I'm disappointed in you, Mike." The lumpy, buttery mashed potatoes and gravy feel cold slipping down Mike's throat. Mike gulps down water, gulping back tears as well. "I taught you to never lie to me. Not only did you break your word, but you were gonna be sneaky about it. Keeping the truth from me _also_ is a lie."

Mike's grandfather scowls at him from across the table.

"Now… I was under the impression that I didn't raise a liar_… _that you were your momma's boy and your daddy's boy. Was I wrong?"

"No, sir," Mike whispers.

His stomach roils at the thought of Jessica and William Hanlon. His parents burning up, shrieking.

"_No, sir. No, sir._" Mike's grandfather repeats it back, sighing as if exhausted and shaking his head. "You're gonna be proving it while resting that ankle. In the meantime, and you better listen well: You're not working on the farm so you're not getting your earnings. You're not going out with your friends. You're not allowed to see Bill. Not until you've learned your lesson."

The thought of not seeing Bill finally wibbles Mike's lower lip.

"Have I made myself clear, son?"

_"Yes, sir…"_

"Finish your supper. Go to bed straight after."

There's no upstairs level of the farmhouse so Mike glances up meekly, excusing himself and pushing out of his seat. He trudges away on his crutches. A sprained ankle needs about six to twelve weeks. Mike stares over the hospital notes, brooding.

*

On the ninth week, Mike thinks he's gone crazy. Hallucinating the faint, tinkling noise of Silver's horn-bell.

And the sight of Bill bursting through his front door, drenched in sunlight.

_WAIT!_

Mike pauses from crossing rooms, staring silent and awestruck. The other boy pants, glistening with sweat and Bill's entire face a bright, hot pink, like Bill has sped his way down the entire of Witcham Street without a single moment of rest. Two miles.

"I h-hah-had to s-see you," Bill mumbles, smiling widely, before Mike speaks up. His auburn hair windswept.

He's suddenly reminded of Romeo and Juliet, and Mike internally kicks himself. This isn't a fictional love story. There's no happy ending in the future for them with Mike confessing his love to Bill over the phone and hearing it spoken back.

Mike's grandfather could come back _ANY_ second now—and Bill will be banned from _EVER_ coming here—and Mike _CANNOT_ deal with that possibility—

"Bill, you can't be here—"

"I know," he admits ruefully. Mike's heart skips at beat when Bill lets go of the doorknob, stepping inside. "I've m-missed you, Mikey. I didn't know _hhuh_-how you were d-doing. I w-_wuh_-wanted to see. Maybe it sounds d-dumb, b-b-b—"

"I've missed you too," Mike interrupts, his dark brown face smiling.

They embrace, awkwardly with Bill's arms to Mike's torso and Mike's left arm looping Bill's neck.

"I like it when you call me that."

"Hm?"

Mike feels his cheeks flushing heat. "Mikey," he says, watching as Bill's clearwater blue eyes soften.

"Okay, Mikey."

Consequences be damned.

*


End file.
